


Urzai Week 2020 Collection

by I_Deal_In_Nightmare_Fuel



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Actors, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, First Meetings, How Do I Tag, Inspired by Eros and Psyche (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), One Shot Collection, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, References to The Yellow Wallpaper, Suicide Attempt, Urzai Week 2020, it's happening!!!!, the oneshots are somehow both inspired by and completely ignore the comics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27188053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Deal_In_Nightmare_Fuel/pseuds/I_Deal_In_Nightmare_Fuel
Summary: A set of oneshots for Urzai Week 2020. Unlike my Jetko Renaissance Week drabbles, these will not be interconnected.Sunday: Spirit/SpiritedMonday:Tuesday: PrisonWednesday: FlamesThursday: AnniversaryFriday: RegalSaturday: Monster
Relationships: Ozai/Ursa (Avatar)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 18
Collections: Urzai Week 2020





	1. Sunday: Spirit/Spirited

"No."

The room stilled. Did Ursa realize what she'd done?

Her parents held their breath, bracing for the anger brewing on Fire Lord Azulon's face, praying that the spirits wouldn't hold them accountable for their daughter's sins. The room's silence was complete despite the commotion outside.

"What?" the Fire Lord said, his tone dangerous. "You dare—"

"Father." Is it just Ursa, or does the Prince sound like he's panicking? "Leave it alone. She does not need to accept."

That cast a silence mixed more with confusion than Ursa's, and she found herself breathing a sigh of relief at his defence of her. She thought no more of it then she did most things. Later, she would regret that.

"Ozai—" Azulon growled, but the Prince cut him off.

"It's fine. Leave her be."

The older man looked to his son, then to Ursa, then, summoning as much imperial dignity as he could after this new embarrassment, beckoned the Prince to join him in storming out the door—except he wasn't storming, because Fire Lords did not _storm_ , they exited with grace and poise. Still, Ursa could see the dissatisfaction in his posture.

Ozai held no such emotion, as far as Ursa remembered later. She hadn't been paying attention.

Only a few days later, she realized maybe she should have.

* * *

Another rattle of boots on cobble, another royal carriage pulling up to the house, and Ursa's mouth went dry in her room on the top floor. Had Azulon changed his mind? Would she be taken away from Hira'a, from all she knew, to marry a stranger (though admittedly a kind one) and live as nothing more than a doll in the palace?

The figure who climbed out, though, was neither of the ones who had accosted her just a few days back. This one was short and rather round. Ursa drifted downstairs, hair loose, dress fine but simple, to see none other than Crown Prince Iroh, face ashen, sitting in their kitchen alone. Where were her parents? Probably in the other room. Maybe he'd sent them out.

"You are Ursa?" he asked, his careful tone not quite hiding the shock and grief beneath it. What had happened? What did it have to do with her?

She swallowed, struck by a terrible sense of foreboding. "I am."

A sigh, and Ursa noticed his eyes were watering. "Tragedy has struck at the palace. Ozai—my little brother—he's—well. I—don't really know how to—"

It must have been a serious matter, if it made a member of the Royal Family lose their composure. She sat down, wishing she looked more formal. "Your brother, has something happened to him?" Little was known about the reclusive second Prince. Part of her regretted not paying attention to him more when she'd had the chance.

"Yes." The word was said on an exhale, quieter than it was surely meant to be.

"Might I ask what?" Oh goodness, that was _far_ too forward. This was a Royal, _and_ he was grieving, and she was going to get executed wasn't she—

But he showed no reaction, other than a quiet sigh. "Yesterday, he—he tried to—the doctors said he was poisoned, but he dined alone. Even made his own food."

What?

Wait.

Did that mean—

"Do you think—"

"It's the only explanation." He sighed, shaky with tears, and looked up at her, desperation and guilt and anger mixing in some horrible expression, leaking through the tears. "Ursa, what did you _say_ to him?"

* * *

The ride to the capital was uneventful. Ursa still didn't know what made her say yes to the journey, why she'd so willingly volunteered herself to go with a man, alone, up to see a different man, also alone, both of who had near-infinite political power and protections—but Iroh's grief had stoked guilt in her head, and even her parents coming back hadn't been enough to dissuade her. Besides, the Crown Prince seemed a bit too in shock to even think of doing anything to her.

It was only a relief when she didn't think about what he was in shock about.

Had the Prince really been in love with her? Did he need to get married? Was he just that fragile? What had happened? Iroh hadn't given her any answers, and she doubted he would in this state.

The palace loomed in all its imposing red and gold before them, and Ursa swallowed, feeling out of place with her modest traveling clothes. A quartet of servants waited for them, surrounding them and taking their luggage as they stepped out of the parked carriage. The road beneath her feet was cobbled with smooth stone. Luxury swamped her senses, made her feel dizzy, and she swayed a bit as she followed the uniform figures into the huge blur of colors.

"Careful, Lady Ursa," one of the servants said, catching her as she swayed just a bit too much. His voice was choked. "You must regain your bearings; the Prince these days is not a sight for sore eyes."

That snapped her out of her fugue. She had a reason for being here, past awe at the great palace, past fainting in some poor servant's arms from lightheadedness and worry. She forced herself to straighten up, remembering all those tutor's lessons on posture and poise. The palace stood before her like a challenge, stark in her now-focused eyes, and she would rise to meet it.

What kind of challenge it would pose remained still a mystery.

* * *

She sat outside a hospital room, waiting for the servants. There were crumbs on her dress from a hasty dinner. Throughout the trip she'd eaten nothing, which might have explained her embarrassing dizziness at the foot of the palace. Surreptitiously she brushed the crumbs away, highly aware of how _clean_ this place was, hoping that no one saw her little transgression.

If anyone did, they didn't care. There were weightier matters to consider.

The Prince was just in the next room. Her heart beat faster at the reminder of why she was here, of what she had done. She hadn't wanted this to happen, she hadn't even considered the possibility, she was innocent—but would the Royal Family and the court listen to the daughter of a lowly provincial minister?

More importantly, would her own conscience listen to her?

"Ursa?"

She looked up at the doctor, who nodded at her. "He's awake and he knows you're coming."

This was it. She had to gulp down huge lungfuls of air to calm the butterflies in her stomach and dry the anxious tears in her eyes.

His room was white, she noticed as she walked in. The color of medicine, the color of mourning. So were his bedsheets and gown and skin. The only spots of color were the unusually dark skin of the attendant—a woman, strange—and the Prince's glossy dark hair. Was black a color? She didn't know. Wasn't it the absence of light?

 _Focus,_ she chided herself. _That's not important right now. You're just trying to get distracted._

The Prince was watching her with dark gold eyes. Gold was definitely a color. But that little debate fell away from her muddled mind as she looked back at him, unable to think of a thing to say, paralyzed by her own shock and turmoil.

She didn't have to say anything, it turned out. The Prince took care of that. "It wasn't you, if that's what you're wondering. Or at least not you in particular."

"Then what was it?" she asked, for her own morbid curiosity had gotten the better of her.

He laughed mirthlessly, weak from whatever poison he'd taken. "It's not something you'd expect a prince to go through. But then again, perhaps a woman would be better able to understand it, given how often everyone tells them to look out for lecherous men."

She didn't know what he was talking about.

Yes she did. She just didn't want to believe it.

She sat down on one of the cushions, trying to work through (or maybe just accept) the implications of what he'd just said. She felt sick. Her mouth wouldn't move.

"You're a prince," she eventually said.

Ozai snorted. "And he's the Fire Lord."

She was going to throw up.

The attendant saw her sick look, the hand across her mouth, and put a blessedly cool wet cloth into her hand. She pressed it to her throat, trying to get rid of her nausea. "There now, lady. Just rest. The situation is horrible to contemplate."

All she could do was nod. She didn't trust herself to open her mouth without vomiting.

"You are spirited, Ursa," the Prince said after a long pause, his voice quiet. "They tried to break you like they broke me, but you didn't let them." He sighed. "I envy you."

Another attendant poked his head in. "Prince Ozai, Lieutenant Zhao is here to see you."

"Send him in."

The door opened to reveal another man, in armor and with massive sideburns, trembling with worry. He immediately knelt at the Prince's bedside. "Ozai, I came as soon as I could. What happened? Why did you—why would you do something so drastic?"

The sigh that came from Ozai seemed to contain more than air. "I'm done with this, Zhao. I'm done taking his abuse. I thought if I got married, he'd leave me alone, but that didn't work and—And. There's only one option left."

"Maybe there's not," Ursa said.

Both men turned to look at her.

"Hira'a is out of the way, and I am but a simple lady. You are the Prince, living in a luxurious palace, so why would you ever leave that, especially on the word of a provincial governor's daughter you've only met once in your life?"

She had worried he wouldn't catch her meaning, but his eyes widened at the implications. "Yes. Why would I leave, especially with such a lowly a young woman? And why would Zhao disappear at the same time?" Zhao relaxed at his words.

Did they have something between them? This wasn't the time.

The attendant had left the room, apparently. Hopefully no one overheard them. "But when?" Ozai continued. "I'm under watch 24/7 to make sure I don't try anything else. The attendants live in the palace; they can't be bribed safely."

Ursa perked up. "Tell me more about these attendants."

"They're all women. Most of them were pulled from Azulon's concubines. They're a diverse group; you couldn't tell one just by looking at her if they didn't have their clothes." He paused, and a little bit of hope sprung into his voice. "Could you get some? I'm not sure if they keep track who's here…"

"Perhaps. But I'd have to get to the clothes. Where would they be?"

They planned for a long time, Ozai's eyes growing brighter with every suggestion, Zhao relaxing as he realized she was trustworthy. They had to stop every time an attendant walked back in. That alone heightened Ursa's sense of danger, and the ideas forming in her head did not help her stress levels, but as she gained the boys' trust and filled in the details she began to think maybe she could do this. Guilt weighed on her mind, despite Ozai's earlier assurance. If she managed to pull this off, maybe it would go away.

And…Agni. Maybe they'd pull it off for real.


	2. Monday: Theater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ozai gets dragged to a play and finds something unexpected and good.

Actors had always struck Ozai as both unnecessary and as kindred souls. The Ember Island Players, on the other hand, were just unnecessary.

He sat in the box provided, steaming at the injustice heaped on him by his family, hating the way he couldn't keep his skin from crawling out of proximity to Azulon. He didn't want to be here, in this tiny, too-lavish room, forced to endure a horribly-made play by amateurish actors next to the person he hated most. At least Azulon wasn't stupid enough to try something in public.

Was it too early to excuse himself for the bathroom and escape? Could he sneak out now? Not yet, he decided. It had only been ten minutes, and he'd need to wait for at least a half hour, so as not to be noticed. Azulon and his idiot brother weren't quite totally absorbed in the play yet.

Honestly, how those two found enjoyment in such drivel, he would never understand.

"Look alive, Ozai," Iroh called from across the box. "The lead actress is rumored to be one of the prettiest women alive. Maybe pretty enough to turn even your stubborn head!" He laughed at that, and Azulon joined him, leaving Ozai steaming at the jibe.

Azulon chuckled. "Honestly, Ozai. How are you so picky?"

That _monster_ knew exactly why.

Ozai dug his fingernails into his palms, reminding himself where he was, what he was. He had no power here. He couldn't strike back, not yet.

To distract himself he turned his attention back to the horrible play just in time to see one of the actors drag a woman out from the wings, a woman in a mask. His brother and father sighed to the side of him; apparently they wanted to see her face.

She acted well, he had to admit. Better than the rest of this grossly unqualified troop. Ozai began to watch with just a little bit of interest, wondering what someone like her was doing in a third-rate circus like the Ember Island Players. She was certainly more interesting than the actual play. He found himself almost forgetting where he was, who he was with, as he watched her. He didn't know what it was that made him like watching her so much, but whatever it was, it almost made him lose track of time.

Almost. Azulon was still next to him.

When he judged it safe, in the middle of some drivel in butchered Old Fire, he slipped out of the box and walked outside, grabbing an extra program on his way out. Their lead actress was...Ursa of Hira'a. Interesting. Didn't the governor have a daughter named Ursa?

He tucked the program into his robe and began to head back to the palace, telling the coachman to let his father and brother know not to worry. He has plans to make for this Ursa.


	3. Tuesday: Prison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ursa finds Ozai in his secret cell.

She found Ozai in the yellow room.

He'd stay here for hours, sometimes. She knew that now, even after only a few months with him, just like she knew he wouldn't lay a hand on her or anyone else without permission the way so many others in the court would. It was odd, really—she'd seen him kill, remorseless, a hundred times, watched him stalk the killing grounds with a hunger born maybe out of vengeance, maybe out of insanity—but never would he touch her. Perhaps, given his strange attraction to this place, it was insanity after all. Perhaps she was married to a madman.

Not that it mattered, really.

"Ozai?"

"Mm?" He sat on the bed, knees up to his chin, eyes vacant as he stared out the barred window.

"Is something wrong?"

"No more than what's usually wrong."

Sometimes he worried her. She padded over to him and curled up underneath his arm, reminding her that even when he looked small he could enfold her. He'd only ever done so benignly.

Others…well. She could imagine what happened to those who drew his anger.

He slid his arm around her, the rich red fabric of his sleeve creased with dust from this impossible room. He wasn't wearing his robes. She wondered if the servants would talk about that. But what did it matter—the servants always talked, their gossip swirling on the air like flies, and it never came to anything unless someone more powerful caught one.

For now she would sit here, with her husband, and watch over him. He had a tendency for self-destruction.

The evening light began to fade from the window and Ozai finally stirred. How long had she been here, tucked underneath her husband's arm, sending support by the tilt of her head? It didn't matter. Her meetings were done for the day and the longer she spent alone with her husband, here, in this little secret room, the less she had to deal with two-faced courtiers and fake smiles and the horrors of what lay behind closed doors. She could see why Ozai liked this place.

Still, the sun was setting, and this room's bed was old and too small for the both of them, so she tugged on her husband's arm and he followed her soundlessly out of the room. He'd drawn into himself again. Perhaps she could draw him back out over dinner.

"It's okay, Ozai," she said, patting his arm. "You're gonna be okay."


	4. Wednesday: Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A modern supernatural AU. Ursa wakes up somewhere new after a long night.

Ursa woke up in a warm bed in a glass room. This was not good, because last night she'd passed out on the pavement and her parents hadn't known where she was.

"Hello?" she called as she sat up. The blankets were soft but that didn't mean she was going to stay. "Anyone here? Where the hell am I?"

She got out of bed and looked down. She wasn't wearing what she'd been last night. Instead of her favorite leather jacket and a ripped pair of old jeans, which she found in the closet, she had on only a pair of soft pants. She grabbed her bra out of the closet and put it on, blushing at the implication. Who had grabbed her? Had they done anything to her?

Instead of her old clothes, she grabbed a silk kimono - she might be tough, but she wasn't going to pass up luxury - and set out to explore this strange new place.

She opened the door to see a huge void through warped glass. Slowly she closes the door behind her, staring at the twinkling stars and delicate shadows. The view was gorgeous in its intricacy, stunning in its vastness.

Where _was_ she?

Her bare feet made little sound on the glass floor as she ventured into this strange hallway. After a little bit she started to recognize doorways in the walls, what were windows maybe set at odd angles. She kept going straight, afraid that she would lose her way if she ever went right or left, and came out into a large atrium, the glass sparkling even higher above her head than it had in the hallway. A mahogany table, practically 6 meters long, lay in the middle, two plush chairs at either end. The table itself was laden with delicious-looking food, piled high in its platters, and her stomach growled at the scent.

Maybe she could just eat a bite.

"Is anyone here?" she called again, before cautiously sitting down to the end plate. She wasn't not sure if she could trust the food, but she was starving after last night, and after a moment's deliberation she dug in. It was good. It was _really_ good. And none of it tasted weird, so it definitely wasn't poisoned. The thought crossed her mind that she might be eating someone else's food, and that someone else might be mad at her, but the hunger in her gut and the taste of the food itself overrode that niggling worry.

"Enjoying it?" came a voice from…everywhere.

Her fork flipped out of her hand as she jerked in surprise. Quickly she wiped the crumbs off of her mouth, hoping to not embarrass herself, and stood up slowly to face whoever had said that.

"Don't worry," the voice said, and still Ursa couldn't figure out where it was coming from. A soothing male voice, but one that seemed to mock her. "I'm not going to judge you. You looked so helpless when I found you."

"I am not helpless," she snapped.

"Mm," the voice said. "And that explains why I found you passed out on the sidewalk with blood dripping from your temple."

"That was from a fight. That I _won._ "

"I find that hard to believe."

Ursa couldn't find a comeback fast enough—and why was she arguing with what was likely a hallucination anyways? Maybe the food had been laced after all. She sat down again after picking her fork back up and glared at the ceiling while trying to make it look like she wasn't glaring.

And then she noticed: there was a bit of the glass that looked darker than the rest, and it looked like someone was casting a shadowed reflection. There was no-one where the reflection would have been cast from. Was that the source of this strange voice?

"So you found me," it said, and this time it sounded like it was coming from that patch of darkness. "Can you keep track of me?" it teased, and it started to move.

She managed to keep it in sight for a full half minute before it simply vanished. "Where'd you go?" she demanded, picking up her fork and brandishing it like a weapon. Then she remembered something. "Were you the one who took me here? Who are you?"

"I was," the voice said behind her and she whirled around to catch sight of it again. "And my name, if it means anything, is Ozai."

"Ozai." So it—he—had a name.

"Now, you probably have many questions. For one, I assure you, you are not hallucinating, nor are you under the influence of any drug. For another, yes, I am the one who owns this glass palace, and I will be the one who arranges your care." There was no undertone underneath the word.

Still, Ursa had to ask. "Am I your prisoner, then?

Ozai chuckled, soft and fond. "You are no prisoner here, my love. You may leave at any time…if you can find the exit."

Then the shadow-reflection vanished from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might make this a full fledged AU, but...later.


	5. Thursday: Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of domestic fluff.

The rain came drizzling down in the morning, pattering against the balcony. Ursa laid in bed listening to the sound. Her husband's warmth filled the space between the blanket and the mattress, cocooning her in a sense of safety peculiar to this strange man with strange words and strange morals.

But she supposed she shouldn't blame him for being strange. He had, after all, grown up in this lunatic asylum of a palace.

She didn't want to get out of bed. It was cozy here. Did she have any meetings today? Did Ozai? She hoped not, but it was incredibly unlikely—a Prince and a Princess were always busy. Meetings, conversations, fake smiles and constant schemes.

Her husband stirred beside her, and she snuggled into him. "Hi baby," she murmured. He was warm, just like always, and, just like always, he wrapped her in his arms and tugged her close. Now she _really_ didn't want to get out of bed.

"No meetings today," he murmured.

Ursa looked up at him hopefully. "For real?"

"For real. Don't you remember? It's our anniversary. I cleared our schedules, so the whole day is ours."

That made her smile, and she slipped her arm around his waist as she nuzzled his chest. Five more minutes. They could have five more minutes.

* * *

"I'm telling you, love," Ozai's voice said behind her, "he should have used the aoba formation. The enemy general had put himself with the decoy - kill him and their forces would have lost their morale."

"Hatsuke's forces would have been defeated if they just blindly charged into Mao's trap! He had archers situated on the hilltops!"

Ursa laid on her stomach, hacking at a particularly stubborn weed with one of her smaller knives. Ozai sat behind her on the bench, having set up an easel and paints, working on one of his paintings that he wouldn't let Ursa see. He'd mentioned it was almost done. They'd talked for hours about the court and plays and military history, having lunch among the plants, arguing over little things, just enjoying themselves. The day had been relaxed and warm. The sun now lay low in the sky. Dinner would probably be soon, but they could take it late if they wanted, maybe take it here like they did lunch.

"Then modify the formation and order the soldiers to go in with shields up. Oh, and I've finished the piece."

Ursa sat back on her heels, looking at her husband. "Really? May I see?"

"You may have it. Happy anniversary."

"Oh!" She got up and sat next to him on the bench, leaning her head on his shoulder to get a good look at it. "Is that…"

"It's you. That's why I didn't want to show you the painting until I was done with it." It _was_ her, in a way she'd never imagined herself, bold and strong and commanding, leading an army astride a komodo-rhino into battle. She was 90% sure that she was taller in the painting than she was in real life.

"It's incredible," she breathed. "I didn't know you were so good—you never let me look at your art."

"Uh." He turned away, trying to hide his blush. Apparently he was a bit touchy about his art. "Most of it's very private."

"And we're married, Ozai." She sighed. "I didn't get anything for you."

He relaxed again. "Being around you is present enough."

"Yea, but shouldn't it go both ways? I don't want to be passive or deified, not by my own husband."

Ozai opened his mouth and then shut it again. "Just take the damn painting."

She took it laughing. It was a good painting, and she'd be loath to pass it up. There was a little space in their suite that was undeniably _hers,_ and she knew exactly where to put this painting—it would look wonderful just above her desk.

Working in the garden, spending all day with her husband, and getting a painting. Today was a good day.


	6. Friday: Regal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The coronation doesn't go as the public expected.

"As per Azulon's request, in his final will, Princess Ursa and Prince Ozai are to be crowned Fire Lords."

The crowd stirred in shock. It was strange enough that Azulon would pick his second child, but to put the woman first! What was the meaning of this? It must have been a trick. Right? But who were they to deny the Fire Lord's final wish?

Their murmuring grew louder as Princess Ursa stepped in front of the Fire Sage and knelt. Her husband still stood behind her, like a proper wife should do for her husband, and the whispers began to catch like fire in the crowd at this blatant reversal, this strange perversion of the natural order. Even the Sage himself was clearly uncomfortable with this.

But it was Azulon's final wish, wasn't it? So it had to be done.

Ursa was suddenly grateful for her bowed head. The crowd couldn't see her swallow nervously as the Sage inserted the crown into her topknot. The Fire Lord's crown. The crown that would mark her as the supreme ruler of the Fire Nation, and, if all went well, the world.

She was nervous. She didn't know why she wasn't terrified. As the metal weight settled on her head and she stood back up, the crowd fell silent, and the nervousness went away.

Perhaps she was meant for this. Perhaps she was meant to rule.

Ozai watched his wife as she rose from her kneel. She faced the crowd with perfect, regal serenity, the very picture of divine authority, tall despite her height. The people quieted, even cowered, before her, as they dropped into kowtows. The spirit who created beauty must have used her as a reference.

He'd never been more in love with her than now.

She stood aside gracefully, making way for Ozai's coronation as the second Fire Lord, and therefore subject to the first. The crowd began to murmur again at the implication. Weren't they all tired of it by now? He went through the motions, long practiced in his daydreams, and the people began to quiet again as he moved to stand with his wife. Her hand wrapped around his and he laced his fingers through her own. A show of power, of solidarity.

They would rule together, and anyone who tried to stop them would find themselves wrecked before them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one today, but tomorrow is our grand finale!


	7. Saturday: Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the day of his coronation as Phoenix King, Ozai falls deathly ill. Many plans go awry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The grand finale for Urzai Week. Enjoy!

It had been a long time since Ursa had been near her husband. Part of her wished it could have been in happier circumstances.

His eyes were closed and his breathing shallow as he laid in the hospital bed, though there was no visible mark on the arms and upper chest that lay uncovered by the bedsheet. He shivered despite the summer temperature. He looked even paler than normal, to contrast with the tan Ursa had gotten over long days working in her garden. She sat gently on his bedside, running her hand through his hair. He had a high fever.

"What's wrong with him?" she murmured.

Azula huffed behind her. "He collapsed when he was declaring himself Phoenix King."

"We don't know," the doctor said. "But we have an idea. Look." She pulled back the covers to reveal an orange, shimmery substance covering the area above his heart. "We think it might be chick down."

Ursa rested a hand on the patch of orange, feeling its softness. The doctor was right—it looked like chick down. It felt like chick down. She couldn't think of anything else that would fit.

A gasp came from the side of her, and Ozai's eyes fluttered open. "Ursa?"

"Yes?" She was surprised enough that the word escaped her.

"You're here."

Right. He was probably still a little delirious. "Yes. I'm here."

"I should have…" He trailed off, gathering deep breaths. "I should have brought you back sooner. You…would have been my Phoenix Queen." His hand drifted up to lay on Ursa's as he closed his eyes again, his breathing evening out again. His body radiated heat now, even more than it did before, and Ursa had to move her hand away before she was burned. Her children were silent. Kiyi sat on Zuko's lap, uncharacteristically still, worry and confusion on her little face. Ursa wasn't sure she understood exactly what was going on.

"Mama?" she asked, sliding off of Zuko's lap and coming over to the bed, latching onto her hand as she came. "What did he mean, 'Phoenix Queen?'"

Azula sighed next to her brother. "He tried to declare himself Phoenix King and collapsed after 'Phoenix.' I don't think declaring her 'Phoenix Queen' would have helped." Her tone was dripping with sarcasm, but Ursa could hear the hurt underneath. The way she'd treated her daughter (the way she'd neglected her daughter) weighed heavy on her mind.

"He and I used to be very close, Kiyi," she said. "Back when we were married. Sometimes we'd make plans together for the court, sometimes we'd talk military history." A wave of nostalgia suddenly swamped her, and she had to stop and close her eyes before tears could slip out. "We usually shared in achievements and power. Which is why he wanted me to be…that."

Zuko looked uncomfortable. Ursa didn't know what had happened to her son, what her son had done, but she knew he wasn't totally welcome in the palace anymore.

Kiyi still looked confused. "But what did you do? How did you make it so he wanted you to be Phoenix Queen?"

Ursa…didn't know how to respond to that. "A lot of things," she said eventually.

"Like what?"

"Kiyi," Zuko cut in. "It's getting late. Isn't it past your bedtime?"

That managed to distract her. "It is _not!_ Lemme stay up! Mom, can I stay up?"

"Your big brother's right, darling. It is past your bedtime. You've already stayed up enough." Ursa picked her up, grateful for the distraction, and bustled out of the room, her other two kids in tow. "Come on now. I think it's for the best if we _all_ went to bed. Zuko, I can get—"

"I have a place," he interrupted.

Ursa blinked. "…okay, then. Sleep tight."

Zuko left at that, and when she turned around, she found that Azula was already gone. Her children didn't trust her anymore.

At least she had Kiyi still, wrapped up pouting in her arms. "Come on," Ursa said. "Let's get you to bed."

* * *

The next day would be busy, Ursa could already tell.

The comet had passed, Ozai still lay sick, and her children were still avoiding her—Zuko gave her apologetic glances from afar, but stayed with his friends from other nations, and Azula shot her glares whenever they ran into each other—but the Fire Nation still needed to be run, and, as Ozai's wife and therefore Fire Lady, that duty fell to her. Azula took some of the paperwork. Zuko grimaced and said he wasn't allowed to do anything, but he took Kiyi for the day so that Ursa could focus. She noticed him at one point with his friends, talking about something serious with the Water Tribe boy as the Water Tribe girl and the rest played with Kiyi in the courtyard.

The group paused when they saw her standing in the doorway—a diverse little group, from all over the world, and they began to try and shield Zuko, almost, from the sight of her.

"Mother?" Zuko asked her out of the blue. "Do you still love me? Are you going to…are you mad at me for my friends?"

Silence descended, total and complete, and Ursa knew the onus was on her to soothe the tensions rising. All her practice had been with slippery, eel-like courtiers, and here instead she was faced with teenagers, sincere and real.

Truth would be the best way to go here, or at least a version of it. She smiled, just like any good mom, and said, "I'm just glad you finally have friends. You always had such a hard time in school."

" _Mom!_ " Zuko yelled as his friends collapsed into giggles.

* * *

Things went more smoothly after that little debacle, at least with Zuko and his friends. She began to learn their names: Sokka, Suki, Katara, Toph, Aang. The Avatar and his teachers and guides.

Well. This was certainly not what she had expected from her son when she'd left.

But that wasn't what mattered, not right now, not when her husband was bedridden with an impossible sickness and her daughter seemed to hate her. Azula stalked through the shadows, ordering servants around, growing testier by the day. Ursa didn't know how to talk to her anymore. Kiyi seemed scared of her. Not to mention that Ozai's condition only ever worsened, the chick-down-substance growing across his torso, and awakenings were ever less frequent. The doctor mentioned that he'd only ever woken up when she was touching him, and even then it was no guarantee.

Even with her vast knowledge of herbs and plants, she knew of nothing she could do for Ozai, and so instead she turned to her daughter. It didn't seem like there was much she could do for her either, but she was awake and somewhat healthy and she could respond to her pleas, and so Ursa latched onto the opportunity. Zuko and she were friendly now, but despite what had happened he still seemed skittish. She supposed that was only natural.

One day she walked through the halls and caught sight of her daughter curled up against a column, her back towards Ursa and her shoulders shaking almost imperceptibly. Maybe this was her chance.

"Azula," she said softly, sitting down by her.

"Go away."

"Azula, please. Why do you hate me?"

"Why do you hate _me?_ " she hissed. "Oh wait, that's right. Because I'm a _monster._ Always have been, always will be. You said it yourself."

Ursa felt a chill go down her spine. "I didn't mean—"

"Then why did you say it? What reason would you have to hate me?" Her voice grew soft, almost-vulnerable. "What reason would you have to hate a little kid?"

She couldn't find a response. Her mouth opened and closed, her brain racing to think of something to say in the wake of this shocking, horrible discovery, and all it could offer was the hopelessly pathetic "I didn't hate you."

Azula twisted her head and looked her in the eyes. A challenge. "Say you love me then. All I wanted was for you to say it."

…she couldn't. She hated that she couldn't.

"That's what I thought," Azula said.

* * *

Days passed before the next incident, and Ursa was so _busy._ Azula helped, taking some of the paperwork that piled onto her desk, and Zuko and the Gaang—it was a funny name, but she supposed Sokka was a funny boy—keep taking care of Kiyi and avoiding practically all of the staff. At this point Ursa's sure that if the law was being followed her son would be in jail by now. But happen it did.

"Fire!" a servant yelled. "Everybody out of the palace!"

Panic began to spread through the room. Ursa ignored it all, ducking out of sight of the courtiers and slipping out of the room to search through the palace for her children. Azula and Zuko and Kiyi—would they be okay? Would she find them in time? Would they hear? Even in the midst of chaos, her mother's instincts led her to worry for her children, her mind running over all their likely and possible locations. Azula and Zuko were both benders, both quite powerful (despite what the courts used to say about her son), but Kiyi wasn't, and she was only eight, most likely helpless and scared and—alone. Was she alone? Had they left her daughter alone?

"Mom!" She heard Zuko's voice above the confusion. "Azula and Kiyi are outside already! Go!"

Her daughters were safe. Her son would be safe. That was all she needed to know.

So she ran outside.

* * *

It was hours, hours through the night and edging onto the dawn, before the flames engulfing the palace died into mere embers, the crowd of servants and nobles and visitors huddled around the palace, trying to give the fire space. Ursa stayed with her daughters, Zuko and his friends just off to the side, huddled together on their own. Blankets had been distributed throughout the crowd, with extras given to Ursa, Azula and Kiyi as the Fire Lady and Princesses. No one had bothered to give any to Zuko or any of his friends.

The doctor burst out of the crowd to the side of Ursa. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty," she said, dropping into a hurried bow that wasn't _nearly_ deep enough, with a face that told of bad news. "We couldn't get your husband out."

"And why not?" Azula sat decidedly _away_ from Ursa, as they still hadn't managed to make up. "Isn't the Fire Lord supposed to be your first priority?"

The doctor, poor woman, coughed. "Well, you see…he started the fire. By the time one of our students had found him his bed was already alight and the flames were only spreading. The student…he's gone now." She sighed. "And poor Izuhara had so much potential. But no, we couldn't get him out."

"Do you think it might be related to his sickness?" Ursa asked, hugging Kiyi close. The last time she'd checked up on him, in between meetings, the strange downy substance had taken almost his entire body, leaving only one half of his face recognizable.

The doctor—what was her name? Ursa had known her name before!—blinked. "Maybe. His fever had been growing. Even our bending students and doctors couldn't touch him without getting burned."

Kiyi began to tug on Ursa's robe. "Mommy, I'm scared."

"I know, baby," she whispered, situating Kiyi onto her lap. "I'm right here." She ignored Azula's scoff beside her.

Ozai was dead. Ozai was dead and it hurt.

The crowd began to murmur, and Kiyi squirmed off her lap to go see what everyone else was looking for. Ursa and Zuko followed her.

Ursa gasped as a figure struggled out of the ashes: tall, powerful, broad-shouldered, with flowing hair and a sharp chin. Ozai.

Ozai was alive.

Ursa ran to him, unheeding of the hot ashes, the ghost of the palace's timbers strewn around her. Ozai was alive. That was all that mattered now that her kids were safe. She nearly knocked him off balance when she crashed into him, wrapping her arms around his torso. The bedsheets had burned away, and something else clothed him now—a simple, gorgeous robe of something like silk, shimmering like fire. His hair was unbound and fell in dark waves across his shoulders.

"Ursa?" he asked, voice soft and confused. "What—what happened…" His proud stance weakened as he swayed into her arms, trembling with exhaustion. She let him down slowly, gathering him in her lap, sitting in the middle of the ashes. A hundred people were gathered around the ruins of the palace but for all intents and purposes they were alone. He was warm but not hot, though warmer than she remembered, and his eyes glowed with some strange new power as he looked up at her face. The ashes around them didn't burn her and she didn't notice in her joy.

"The palace burned down," she said bluntly, too overwhelmed for subtlety. "But you're alive."

His eyes unfocused. "I remember…being warm. Finally being warm enough. It was so _cold_ in that hospital room…how was it so _cold…_ "

"It's okay now," she whispered. "You're okay."

She saw his eyes refocus on her, and his hand reached up to her cheek. "Yes, I'm alright now. And I think it's thanks to you."

She didn't worry about that little detail. Mainly because she'd leaned down to kiss him. His lips were warm in the early dawn, and a fire ignited in her chest, spreading through her arms and down through her stomach and legs, not quite unlike the one that would kindle low in her gut when she and Ozai would make their escapades in the dead of night, before everything, only this fire didn't demand anything, just pulsed inside her and made her feel more than alive.

It stayed even as she broke the kiss, looking deep into Ozai's newly glowing golden eyes. Their hands intertwined as Ozai sat up. Already his strength was coming back, she could tell, and she stood up with him.

The crowd began to cheer when they saw the Royal Couple standing together, and Ursa began to feel that everything would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, kudo, share with your friends. What was your favorite chapter? Which AU would you like to see continued? (Did you see any typos?) I'd love to hear your thoughts!


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